I believe you [men] capable of everything great and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as - if I may be allowed the expression, so long as you have an object. I mean, while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one, you need not covet it) is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.

One man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like our own best.

She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man.

Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.

Another stupid party . . . with six people to look on, and talk nonsense to each other.

Better be without sense than misapply it as you do.